


Favourite Time of Year

by MirandaSwitch15



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24619081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirandaSwitch15/pseuds/MirandaSwitch15
Summary: Harry and Hermione go back to Godric's Hollow, but things are different this time.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 41





	Favourite Time of Year

**Author's Note:**

> For the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
> 
> Round Six: As Different As…
> 
> Team: Chudley Cannons
> 
> Position: Seeker
> 
> Prompt: happy and sad
> 
> Chudley Cannons Team Challenge: Choose a song to be inspired by. (In this case, When We're Together by Kristen Bell, Idina Menzel and Josh Gad, from Olaf's Frozen Adventure)
> 
> Word Count: 1590 (excluding title and song lyrics)
> 
> I know this is totally not the season for this, but I am a little too much in love with Christmas. So there's that.

_It is something I will never trade_

_It's the family that we've made_

_'Cause when we're together_

_I have everything on my list_

Snatches of song drifted lazily from one of the churches around the corner. There was the tinkling of a bell as a group of people dressed in bright winter attire entered a rather cosy-looking inn. It bore a glittering neon sign reading: _Crumb and Crust_ in large, loopy letters. Along with that, there was also the portrait of a wizard in a crimson top hat, holding a flagon of Butterbeer and waving enthusiastically at the cheerful passersby. Lights poured out of every shop onto the snowy street like honey.

All in all, it was quite a different scene from the one Harry had been welcomed to the last time they had visited this place.

The family of four walked past the row of noisy little cottages and shops and churches and cafes and bakeries, past the trees layered with spotless white snow, the war memorial that they had planned to visit on their way back, and rounded a corner. They found themselves at the entrance of the familiar kissing gate — the entrance to the tiny graveyard that stood beyond the church with the stained-glass windows. It was rusty, and dark green creepers coiled themselves around the railings.

A gust of chilly December wind bit into Harry's numb skin, ruffling his bedlam of hair and making goosebumps rise on the back of his palms. He felt Rowan shiver and edge closer to him. Samuel, ever the stoic little boy, lay quiet, his chin propped up comfortably on Hermione's shoulder. He put out a hand to touch the frozen leaves hanging from the tree.

Harry looked at Hermione. "Can I just — you know, go ahead first? If you don't mind... "

"Of course I don't," Hermione cut him off, taking their daughter's hand from his. "You go, and I'll bring Ro and Sam along."

"Thanks," Harry whispered, giving her a small smile before he proceeded further into the darkness.

"Why does it have to be so sad and quiet?" asked Rowan in a tentative voice, her grip on Hermione's hand tightening. "It's scary. Look at those flowers — they're all _dying_."

Hermione looked at her. "Love, this is important to your daddy. Here's where his mum and dad are. You don't want to make him feel hurt, do you?"

Rowan looked at her feet. "Sorry, Mummy."

Hermione stroked Rowan's curly hair. "It's quite alright, darling."

Then Hermione, Rowan and Sammy wound their way through the dark, snow-topped gravestones. The lights of the church filtered through its windows, casting patches of red, gold, and green that dotted the lifeless stones like jewels. Occasionally, Rowan stopped to read the engravings on some of the tombs.

Lily and James' headstone was towards the end of the churchyard, and the three of them found Harry sitting quietly in front of it, hugging his knees to his chest.

Hermione did not see Rowan chance a look up at her, but she did feel her daughter clutch her pant leg.

"Daddy!" Sammy called out the moment he saw Harry.

Hermione sighed but brushed it off when Harry turned and smiled at them.

"Hello," he greeted when they joined him. Hermione cast a warming charm before setting Sammy down, and he immediately began to fidget with a tiny purple flower growing in a patch of moss near his foot.

"Are Gramma and Grampa here, Daddy?" Rowan asked, gently touching the marble headstone and running her fingers across the inscription.

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

"Yes, love," Harry replied.

"Were they very brave?" the little girl asked, looking curiously at her parents.

"Two of the bravest people in the world," Harry said in a hoarse voice. "They died to protect me."

Rowan turned back towards the grave and began to speak in a soft voice, barely audible over the sound of the wind and the carols. "Hi, Gramma, Grampa. I'm Rowan, your granddaughter. And there's little Samuel. We love you, and don't worry, we'll keep Daddy safe and happy."

When Hermione looked at Harry, his eyes were glistening. She took his hand in hers, squeezing it comfortingly.

Rowan wasn't Hermione's daughter for nothing, however. She had sensed the sadness in her father's voice before, and now she scrambled into his lap, wrapping her little arms around his neck.

"I love you, Daddy," she whispered, kissing his cheek. "Don't cry."

Hermione's eyes were impossibly soft as she saw the exchange between father and daughter.

Harry wrapped his arms around Rowan. "I love you, too, darling. I love all of you."

"Are you happy, then?" she asked tentatively.

Harry nodded, and when Rowan wiped the tears he hadn't realised had fallen, he felt an unexpected warmth seep into his cold, numb cheeks. "Yeah, I am happy."

Hermione pulled Sam back into her hold, for he seemed quite intent on wandering off into the thorny hedges. She then pulled out her wand from inside her jacket and waved it in a circular manner, and a wreath of Christmas roses — much like the ones she had conjured years ago at this very place — blossomed before their eyes.

"Would you like to put these flowers on the headstone, Sammy?" she asked the little boy, who nodded eagerly and took the wreath from his mother's hand, toddling forwards on his short legs and promptly placing the wreath on the grave. Then he returned to Hermione's arms, curling up in her embrace.

The family sat there quietly for a few more minutes. Rowan hummed to the tune of the carols that were being sung by the choir inside the church, and Sammy continued to observe the little purple flower that had caught his attention earlier and even tried to demonstrate to his mother its properties — most of which was incoherent babbling.

Harry, with his arm around Hermione, took the moment to reminisce about the last time he had been there, in the middle of the War. After Voldemort's defeat, they had all tried to drown themselves in training, flying, or in piles of charts and reports in an attempt to exorcise the horrors of the War. It had been Christmas Eve the last time as well, but what he felt now was very unlike what he had felt then.

When the lights in the church went out, the family of four rose to their feet and exited the graveyard in silence, once again finding themselves on the bustling main road.

" _Ooh_ , look!" Rowan tugged on her father's arm. She was pointing at the large Christmas tree that stood tall and proud at the centre of the crossroads. It was decked in layers of fluffy white snow. Colourful baubles and twinkling lights hung from its branches. A shiny tinsel star stood on its tip.

"What are those little flying lights, Mum?" Rowan asked, referring to the twinkling lights that did not seem stationary, now that Harry looked carefully, but were floating like several fireflies around the tree. The picture looked vaguely familiar to him.

"They are fairies," Hermione said, smiling down at Rowan. "Live ones."

The seven-year-old's eyes widened in awe. " _Live_ fairies?" she asked; her gaze shuttled from her mother to the tree.

"C'mon, then," she cried excitedly, looking at Harry. "Let's go see it! Come on, everyone!"

"Ro, love — " Hermione began to say, but laughed instead at her daughter's obvious glee. She set Sam down on his feet. The toddler was just shy of three years old and already had his mother and his sister wrapped around his little finger. The little boy grinned when Rowan came over to him and took his hand.

Harry and Hermione let the children go ahead of them, watching as Rowan led a toddling Sammy to the Christmas tree. She pointed this and that out to her brother, who listened to Rowan intently, his brown eyes wide and sparkling with the reflections of the flickering lights. The two gasped simultaneously when one of the fairies flitted down and landed gently on Sammy's nose, almost a golden dot on his pale, freckled skin. Rowan giggled, and Sammy went cross-eyed in an attempt to observe the miniscule creature.

The fairy shot upwards when Sam tried to touch it. "Bye-bye!" Sammy waved at her, watching with a gaping mouth as she rose in circles up in the air, joining her fellows.

As Rowan continued to show her brother different things about the tree, Harry turned to look at Hermione. She was gazing fondly at their children, a small smile on her face. Her cheeks were pink, eyes shining. Bits of snow stuck in her curls like white confetti, and Harry reached out to pull one of them out.

His touch made her look at him. He smiled and wrapped an arm across her shoulders to pull her closer.

"Merry Christmas, Harry." She smiled back at him, leaning up to kiss his cheek. She rested her head against his shoulder.

Harry kissed the top of her head. "Merry Christmas, Hermione."

Above them, the snow continued to fall slowly, but unlike the last time he had been there, Harry felt as though he was surrounded by warmth, the same homey kind of warmth that the fire at the Weasleys' or in the Gryffindor Common Room seemed to emit.

Unlike the last time, he did not feel the desire to join his parents where they lay under the snow. Then, he'd thought that place below the ground was where he belonged. But he had been wrong.

 _This_ was where he belonged. And he'd rather be nowhere else.

_All around the Christmas Tree_

_There'll be dreams coming true_

_But when we're together_

_Then my favourite gift is you._

**Author's Note:**

> Loads of thanks to Fire the Canon, insertcleverandwittytitlehere, The Lady Arturia and Queen Bookworm the First for their amazing beta work.


End file.
